Star Wars- Son of Skywalker

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars characters. The plot, descriptives and dialogue of this alternate universe story are mine.

Peace. Democracy has reigned the last thirteen years since the destruction of Darth Sidious, and the Grand Republic has flourished.

Never throughout the course of recorded history has such a time of tranquil prosperity been more prevalent than right now.

As the Republic continues to thrive, the Jedi look forward to a new generation of Padawan learners as the first children of Master Anakin Skywalker await their nominations for apprenticeships and under whose tutelage their growth to adulthood will be attained.

Luke Skywalker, first-born son of the Jedis' revered Chosen One, must now come to terms with his intended legacy and his father must face the knowledge that his past misdeeds have had a longer-lasting echo than he had ever believed possible…

Chapter One – Heritage

It was pretty here. Soothing and perfect for a young man's peace of mind. There was nothing to strain the eyes from seeing for miles ahead of him. There was no crush of traffic. There was no one to disturb his quiet meditation.

He would enjoy it for as long as he could as the next morning his life could change forever.

Luke Skywalker had much to contemplate. He sat back on the sand, feeling the grainy texture of it between his fingers, as he enjoyed the beauty of the suns setting.

It may be his last chance to see it for some time to come. This would be his final summer spent on Tattooine. This was his last bastion of childhood, his last opportunity to be carefree. Tomorrow he would return home to Coruscant and all the responsibilities of being a Jedi Padawan learner would be thrust upon him once again. Everything would change in a matter of days. His time would be deeply regimented. The life of a padawan learner did not include such frivolities like spending time with friends doing nothing at all. There were languages to study, lessons to be researched, and codes to memorize and place in immediate action.

He would miss this place. He would miss the simplicity of it, the routine. Sure, Uncle Owen could be a little stuffy. Owen was a product of his upbringing. His grandfather was a moisture farmer. His father was a farmer so therefore he was a farmer. It was in his blood, and he would till his parched stretch of land all day and night if he could. He loved it. Tatooine was as much as part of Owen Lars as midi-chloriants were of Luke.

Midi-chloriants. Luke sighed to himself. Chemistry was taking him back to the Galactic capital. Genetics defined his destiny. He had millions upon millions of tiny organisms traveling his blood stream of a near supernatural power. It seemed strange to Luke at times that so many people put so much thought, so much reverence into something that basically made him the same as they—alive.

He quickly stood and kicked the sand beneath his feet.

Not the same. We wasn't the same. There was nothing about him that was ordinary. It didn't matter how many friends he claimed or what his uncle constantly assured him. He would never lead a simple life. Oh, he'd live a humble one for certain. Deeply ingrained in him already was the humility. But he would never have a life of simplicity. A plan where his only concern would be the care of his family, providing them with shelter, food, and love.

Those things were no longer forbidden a Jedi. His father and Uncle Obi—Master Kenobi— had seen to that. But his would never be the same. He was different. His bloodline demanded it. Relentlessly. Duty to others came first. The others meaning every single living being in the galaxy and beyond. It was the Jedi way of life.

Over the years, Luke had seen more than enough examples of that. His father was forever going off trying to save the worlds. His skill with both a lightsaber and diplomacy were renowned.

Luke had to smile a little at the last. Diplomacy, thy name is Anakin.

Oh, he'd heard the stories. The whispers amongst his classmates. Anakin was the Chosen One. Fruit of the prophecy.

The Son of the Suns.

The smile left his face. No. Luke wasn't the same as everybody else. He was remarkably different. Exceptionally gifted.

Terribly lonely.

Even now, with day preparing to rest, the heat scorched his eyes and they watered.

At least that is what he told himself to explain their sudden dampness.

Twelve years old and I'm already weary, he thought.

How was he to measure up to the heights of his father's good deeds? He thought he understood all that being Anakin's boy would entail, but suddenly he believed with sharp clarity that he did not. He shared very few things in common with his father, save the cells of bone marrow.

Papa is never reckless, he thought. He would have my hide if he'd seen me flying today. He would not have approved of those maneuvers barely keeping me from streaking backside-over-elbow into the dunes. He would have never been so boastful of his piloting skills. He would never endangered himself just to prove he was better.

I have no patience. I go into everything head-first, repercussions later. Papa knew how to balance himself. Papa knew how to think. Papa knew how to ward off desperation and fear. Papa knew how to contain anger till it dissipated. Sure, Papa was older. He was a man grown. But if the stories were to be completely believed, Anakin Skywalker had never known a single-moment's hesitation or doubt. His strength was regaled. His intellect was never in dispute. Every Jedi paled in comparison to his father, and it was not only Luke's opinion or his mother's or siblings.

Bitterly, Luke thought of his last night at Temple before coming to Tatooine. His classmates had ridden him mercilessly about his parentage. They had taunted him with his inequity, his failure to thus far be everything he had been cracked up to be in the eyes of the Jedi. He had no reasoning. He had no talent. He had no special reserve.

"You're not Master Skywalker's son!"

They hurt him. They had injured his pride so that he gave in to the very thing they had meant to goad from him. Anger. Fear. Aggression. And Luke dove into the fray with a ferocity that tried even the kind Master Drallig's substantial peace.

Luke had lashed out at the nearest peer, striking such a blow to the boy that he flew across the room like a swatted pest. The horrified group was stunned to silence, but Luke would not relent. He pursued Adeck, his friend. The blood was roaring in his ears. Not even Leia's harsh pleas of cessation could rein him.

It had taken Master Windu to pull him off Adeck's trembling form. The shame was almost instantaneous. Luke remembered looking down at his friend's bleeding face and realizing that Adeck had made no moves to defend himself. A true Jedi, Adeck behaved as if his purpose in that moment was to allow his comrade the means to vent his frustration, even though the boy had no direct involvement in its cause. Adeck had been patient. Adeck had probably meditated through the whole ordeal.

Luke had proven the instigators correct. He was not Anakin Skywalker's son.

That night, after Master Windu had personally driven he and Leia home, after the quiet lectures and after being given the tasks of repentance, he sat in his room contemplating all that he had lost in that flash of ridiculous bullying—his name, his honor, an apprenticeship.

His destiny.

Luke would never be his father's son. He simply did not have it in him.

The game was his. Not that there was any doubt of who would emerge the victor. However, Anakin gave nothing away of his thoughts. He contented himself to watch his opponent as he had for the last hour, content in his world.

A steely blue-eyed gaze met his. Equally, albeit futilely, determined. Anakin subtly bit the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking into peals of laughter. The poor boy really had no idea who he was dealing with.

Yes I do, Anakin mentally heard. He frowned.

His opponent openly grinned then and moved the small wooden figurine into a position of attack. The stroke of genius would have wounded Anakin greatly if it had not also been countered with another sloppy grin and full-view of missing top-front teeth.

Anakin cleared his throat and attempted sobriety. "You should have given more thought to that strategy, padawan."

"I don't need to look at the board to know my next move, Master," was the reply.

Anakin was stern. "You are overconfident. It's a flaw."

"Thinking I'm still a baby is yours." Another grin, this time accompanied by a relaxed posture of chin in hand. "Papa."

Anakin looked down at the chest board and made his next move. "Checkmate, Raine."

Mouth agape, Anakin's second son glared down at the board in disbelief.

"But...but," Raine stuttered. "I read your thoughts!"

Anakin did not smirk. "Your first mistake. Unfortunately, it was your biggest."

Offended deeper, Raine exclaimed, "You knew I was doing it!"

Anakin shrugged, "Of course I did. You're my son. I've taught you everything you know in our short but exciting lives together."

Raine looked utterly gutted. "Papa…You…You cheated."

Papa's brow arched. "And just what did you think you were doing by abusing your telepathy, little one?"

"I'm six!"

"And old enough to know you get what you deserve when you underestimate an adversary. "

Raine sat back in his own chair with a huff and pout. He crossed his little arms over his little chest and looked so remarkably the perfect combination of his father and mother, he took Anakin's breath away.

An errant lock of sable-colored hair fell over his eyes. He had already perfected his father's penchant for glaring, and he did so now. Anakin smiled to see it.

"When does Luke get home?"

Anakin laughed. "Don't get too comfortable with besting your brother, son. He lets you win."

Raine sat up straight. "He does not! I'm smarter than he is."

Anakin groaned. He's got my glaring eyes, my temper, and my argumentative arrogance.

"The only trait of your mother's is your hair color," he muttered to himself.


"It's not 'huh'. It's 'pardon'," Anakin sighed.

Raine stayed on topic. "Luke would never cheat me. I win our matches fair-and-square."

"Then perhaps I'll serve as referee in your next match." Anakin stood and began to clear the table. "But I do not want you daring your brother to a game as soon as he gets home. You'll leave him be."

Raine absently played with the wooden pawn in his hand. "But Papa he's been gone for sooooo long."

"It's been three months, Raine," Anakin countered. "Hardly a lifetime."

An eternity, he silently amended..

"Papa, are we going to have a big party for Luke and Princess' birthday?"

"Her name is Leia, Raine."

"You call her Princess. Why can't I?"

"Because she doesn't like it when you do it."

"Well, are we? Their gonna be thirteen! We've gotta have a big party." "You just want cake."

"You're supposed to have cake at a party, Papa."

"Yes, providing you can eat it like a civilized Jedi. Not the way you do it. Snarfing a whole slice into your mouth at once. Threepio is still lamenting the mess you made on the carpet when your wee hopped-up-on-sugar self regurgitated it."

Raine shrugged with innocence. "I like cake. I got too excited. I want them to have a birthday party. A great big one. I like Luke and Princess Leia."

Anakin ignored the use of his daughter's moniker. "I certainly hope so."

"They're nice to me."

"Well, they kinda love you, sprout. You have that effect on people."

The boy sighed with smugness. "Yes, I do."

Anakin closed the velvet-lined box he kept his prized possession in and knelt before the boy.

"Raine," he began patiently. "What have I said to you about your conceit?"

Stumped, Raine eyed him curiously. "That it's like looking in the mirror?"

Anakin was not going to play this game. He tone left no room for banter. "Vanity is more than a blemish of character. It's the strongest of false pride. Do you know what false pride can do?"

"Makes you greedy," Raine uttered softly. "Greed leads to envy and envy to…"

Anakin stroked the thin, short braid hanging softly behind his son's right ear. "Envy to a world of trouble. Keep in mind, son, that what you say in this house can have a completely different effect on the people outside of it. I know and your mother knows that you are a very talented, very smart boy. You may be whoever you like here. There is nothing you cannot say in our home, but you must learn to filter your thoughts, your words, else both may be misconstrued. You have a good heart. Don't build the opportunity for others to believe you do not."

Raine's expression became earnest as he nodded, "A Jedi knows humility."

"That's right."


"Yes, son?"

"I'm sorry I cheated."

"I'm sorry that I made you do it. Lesson learned?"

"I think so."

Filled with renewed cheer, Anakin stood and patted Raine's shoulder. "Good! Now run along and get ready for bed."

"Yes, Papa."

"We'll be there momentarily to tuck you in."

"Yes, Papa."

"And, Raine?"

Raine stopped in his tracks half-way across the great room and turned. "Yes?"

Anakin crossed his powerful arms across his powerful chest and said, "Your lightsaber stays with me."

He held out his hand.

Grousing quietly to himself, Raine crossed the room and reluctantly slapped the hilt of his saber into his father's palm.

"Thank you."

Anakin suppressed his chuckles as he watched Raine stomp his little feet out of sight.

"Let me guess," he heard his wife call out. "He did not win the match."

Anakin closed his eyes as Padmé closed in behind him and wrapped her arms lovingly around his waist. He leaned into her for a blissful moment before he answered, "No, he didn't."

"Did he get your Speech Number Seven about abusing his gifts?"

He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling. He rolled his eyes but turned in her embrace. He peered down at her and pulled her closer. "I do not have a library of speeches, angel."

"Yes you do," she smiled and stretched up to kiss him. "Or if you don't, you should."

Anakin sighed against her hair. "I swear, you'd think this would get easier with more experience. Stubborn little ankle-biters is what we have, Padmé. Spoiled to their precious cores."

"Nope. Just Skywalkers."

"Very funny."

"Very true."

"Where is the baby?"

"Tucked securely in his bassinet." Padmé placed soft, nibbling kisses along his chin.

Anakin closed his eyes and enjoyed her attentions. "We need to say goodnight to—Ah…That's nice."

Padmé gently bit his neck. "You know, after tonight, we're going to have a full house again. We should probably savor this night to its fullest."

Anakin laughed, "Careful, angel. What you're doing now is what started us filling this house in the first place."

Undeterred, Padmé unbuckled his utility belt and took their son's miniature lightsaber from his hand, tossing them on an ottoman. "I want you all to myself for the next few hours. You know what happens when you lapse in certain activities. Your body starts to forget things—"

"Not my body," he whispered against her lips, grinding his lower half against her and wiggling his brows. "See?"

Padmé plunged her tongue into his mouth, and he pressed her even closer.

"Mama? Papa?"

Padmé jerked back reflexively, but Anakin held her steady. His lips were still tingling from her greatness when he spat with misplaced heat, "Why is it every time I kiss my wife a child appears?"

Little Rafe giggled and hugged his dog closer to his small pajama-clad body. "Papa, you're always kissing Mama."

Padmé held Anakin's hand and smiled, "Why aren't you in bed, darling?"

Rafe lost his smile. "Raine said Little Chewy couldn't sleep with us 'cuz he snores."

Little Chewy barked his disapproval.

Mother and father walked over to their fourth child. The dog left Rafe to snuggle at Padmé's feet.

Padmé leaned down to kiss the top of Rafe's head. "Darling, why don't you let Chewy sleep out on the terrace tonight, hmm? You know how he enjoys the night air. He can breathe easier, and your brother will not be able to complain. Does that sound all right with you?"

"But what if he gets lonely, Mama?"

"If Chewy starts barking, you can take him in your room with you—"

Anakin stared down at the dog with distrust. "Or toss him over the railing."


"I'm kidding."

"That's not funny, Papa!"

"I'm sorry, son. Bad joke."

Little Chewy growled up at him with mutual dislike.

Padmé sighed and released Anakin's hand to take Rafe's. "Leave Chewy here for the night and tomorrow he can sleep in your room."

"Thank you, Mama."

"You're welcome, darling. Come, Anakin. Let's tuck the children in."

"Coming, angel." He glared down at the dog. "Well go on, Chewy. Go outside."

Little Chewy sat back on hunches, his paws firm on the floor.

Anakin shook his head and followed them.

"Stubborn little ankle-biters. Every one of 'em."